


black string of fate

by fallingsonder



Series: life's alright in devil town [2]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fate, Fate & Destiny, Mammon is ur soulmate, Red String of Fate, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, red string of fate but with a twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingsonder/pseuds/fallingsonder
Summary: nobody knows why your thread isn’t red, but you soon learn why.
Relationships: Main Character & Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character/Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Series: life's alright in devil town [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609714
Comments: 24
Kudos: 448





	black string of fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosmea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmea/gifts).



> dedicated to @mammon-chan on tumblr <3  
> there will possibly be a part two to this!

_ a red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstances. the thread may stretch or tangle, but only death will ever break it. _

It’s just a morning, like any other morning, when you first decide to ask your parents about the thread wrapped around your pinky. being the mere age of four years old, you barely understand the concept of a soulmate, but they’re more than willing to explain the phenomenon.

“the red thread is connected to the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with,” they tell you.

“like cinderella and the prince!?”

“exactly like cinderella and the prince.”

you don’t feel the need to mention the thread wrapped around your finger isn’t red.

a year later, when you’ve started to attend kindergarten, you get in an argument with one of your ‘friends’ over the colour of the string of fate. they insist it’s red and you get upset, because it’s clearly black and not red and anyone who thinks it’s  _ red _ must be dumb.

your mother gets a phone call that afternoon. as soon as you get home you coop yourself up in your room, hiding under the covers despite your chest tightening and your vision going blurry from lack of oxygen.

“(Y/N), is it true you called your friend a ‘stupid’ today?” your mother asks you after sitting at the end of your bed, pulling your blanket down so that you can breathe again. despite her gentle tone, you refuse to look at her, but nod nonetheless.

“and why did you do that?”

“they said the string is red!”

your parents get you tested for colour blindness that same week.

the results come back negative.

the optometrist tries explaining that perhaps the colour of your string is just a blip, because despite everyone having a string for thousands, if not millions, of years-- the human race still barely understands the rules of it. most of the human population is incapable of magic, after all. and it doesn’t seem like they’ll be making any groundbreaking progress in that area of expertise any time soon.

from then on, you pretend it doesn’t exist. in fact, you despise it with your entire being. looking at it makes your heart clench and your breathing stutter. there’s something wrong with it, something wrong with  _ you _ . countless nights are spent trying to sever it.

_ only death will ever break it. _

you’re thirteen when your friends begin talking about how they communicate with their soulmate.

at first, you’re annoyed by it-- every fibre of your being just wants to tell them to shut up, that you don’t care about their soulmate and the whole concept of it is stupid, but eventually you begin to wonder about who could possibly be on the other side of your unusually coloured thread. you’ve always had theories about what the colour means, ranging from your soulmate being dead to it meaning you’ll never meet them, but you never thought about actually trying to contact them.

so one day, while you’re sitting alone in your room, you took ahold of the string and tug on it.

_ there is no tug back. _

at least, there isn’t at first. just as you’re about to throw a fit and attempt to cut it off, you feel your pinky jerk.

many tears are shed that night.

what you once despised becomes something you find comfort in. when you feel like the world is crashing down on you in waves and you’re choking on the water, scrambling for air, you tug on it-- and they tug back, letting you know that they’re there. despite having yet to have met them, the mere thought of their existence allows you to breathe again.

you’re seventeen when you finally reveal to someone the colour of your thread. or rather, they reveal to you.

you’re simply minding your own business as you shop when a lady pulls you aside and asks you if you know what it means to have a soulmate string coloured black.

“h-how--?” you stutter with wide eyes but you aren’t given enough time to comprehend what’s happening because she’s already dragging you to a newly set up fortune telling booth. when she sits you down at the table with a crystal ball in the middle of it, it occurs to you that she’s the fortune teller.

“usually i charge people for this. but for you, my dear, i’ll do this for free,” she explains, setting crystals and rocks onto the table.

“do what?” you ask, mind reeling and eyebrows furrowed, “how do you know my string is black?”

you aren’t sure whether to believe her or not when she tells you that she’s a witch, but there is no other way she could possibly know. you learn that her name is grisella, and that a black thread is a rare but natural occurrence. 

“think of it like having red hair. less than two percent of the population has it, but it’s not strange.”

you find that comparison quite comforting.

the next time you go shopping, the booth isn’t there. she never did say what the colour means or what causes it, but she did say something that stuck with you.

_ “his greed is strong, but his love for you will be stronger.” _

_ greed? _ your soulmate is a man of greed? it concerns you, though you aren’t sure if you’re supposed to be. grisella reassured you that he won’t be a bad person, but greed makes you think of old, rich business men stealing from the poor. yet when you tug on your string and he tugs back, you don’t feel the sensation of a man wanting more than he could ever get, but rather a man looking for a sense of security,  _ just like you are. _

you’re nineteen when you finally understand what she truly meant.

it’s strange, really, finding yourself in the Devildom. you can’t really remember what you were doing before you arrived. all you know is that you’re in RAD’s assembly hall with the ruler of all demons and the student council. lucifer, the vice president, explains to you that you’ve been chosen for their human student exchange program. he introduces you to his brothers, who are also council members, and tells you that a demon named ‘mammon’ has been assigned to look after you.

your phone call with him is…  _ interesting _ , to say the least. he didn’t seem to care about what you had to say until lucifer intervened by threatening him. then he abruptly hung up.

“what the--?”

a loud crash echoes throughout the hall.

“and it looks like the disappointment has arrived,” lucifer says and all of the brothers collectively sigh together. with furrowed eyebrows, you turn around to face the demon everyone has been making a fuss about.

when you lay your eyes on him, you almost forget how to breathe.

usually, referring to a man as ‘beautiful’ is considered offensive, but that’s the only coherent word going through your mind.

_ beautiful _ .

his hair is colourless, shining harshly against the light yet contrasting smoothly against his dark skin. yellow-tinted sunglasses are slipping dangerously close to the tip of his nose and his lips are curled up into an arrogant smirk. he keeps his head held high while walking towards you, a sign of confidence.

something about his confident stance seems fake, though.

“just who do you think you are, human!?” he yells, his hands moving with his words, “you’ve got a lotta nerve summoning mammon the great!”

you freeze in your place. not because he’s intimidating, no, because there’s a black string attached to his pinky. he’s rambling on about you having to give him your valuables, but all you can focus on is the thread. your eyes follow it and find that it leads to your own pinky.

“fuck,” you breathe aloud and he frowns.

“oi, listen to me as i talk to you! what’re you starin’ at--”

he pales.

_ a black thread connects demons who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstances. the thread may stretch or tangle, but only death will ever break it. _


End file.
